Red Sky in Morning
by hazelmom
Summary: McGee has a debt he needs to pay and ends up working for the wrong bunch of people.
1. Chapter 1

**Red Sky in Morning**

_A/N: This was a WEE story written for Sazzita on NFA. I fall off writing The Fear Game because of illness and surgery. However, the WEE challenge came up and I owed a story. So, I picked the prompt that asked me to find a connection between one of our heroes and the mafia. So, I pulled this together. It is written in five chapters and complete so you shouldn't worry about this one dropping off. I will post every other day. I hope you read. Sheila_

_P.S. Thanks to Liane for checking on me._

Chapter 1

Paul took the check from the waiter and caught McGee's eye. "What?"

"Paul, this place is too much. I saw three of my dad's old friends just walking through the dining room. You insisted on caviar for an appetizer-which neither of us particularly like. You ordered two bottles of wine so smooth I'm not even drunk, and I gotta doggy bag filled with a piece of Kobe beef worth more than my left kidney. We're going to have to split this check."

"No way, Beaver. I've come a long way since those days at MIT when we scraped around for quarters to pay for our burgers. It's on all on me." Paul produced a platinum American Express card, shoved it into the sleeve of the bill without even looking, and leaned back in his chair. "Let's talk business."

McGee sighed. "Moonlighting is frowned upon at NCIS. I got permission to do up to 40 hours a month as a consultant for you for six months. I doubt the director is going to let me have any more."

"Tim, you are a genius with creating firewalls. We need more than 40 hours a month from you." Paul ran a hand through his curly black hair.

McGee leaned forward. "I can put you in touch with some guys I know. They are also very good."

Paul shrugged. "Great. You give me a guy, and then we don't need you anymore. Sounds good."

McGee looked down at the table. "I could still participate 40 hours a month."

"Tim," Paul chuckled softly. "You need me more than I need you. I know about your debt. I know how desperate you are for this money."

His face reddened. "I am not so desperate that I'm going to break my agreement."

"So, go back to him. Tell him you need 20 more hours a month."

"That's not going to work. Plus, I don't even know where I would find 20 extra hours with the schedule I keep."

"Tim, you're building a wireless security system for my import business, and we don't have time to wait for you."

"That's why I'm suggesting that I bring in a guy or two. They can work under me."

Paul shook his head. "The point of an effective security system is not sharing it with a lot of people."

"I know people I can trust."

"Well, they are not Tim the Beaver. I don't care if you can trust them, I can't. We bump it to 60 or we say good-bye."

Tim looked up. "I can try for 50."

"That's not what I want, Tim. Hell, I'm practically paying you under the table."

McGee rubbed his face. "Okay, that's not happening either."

"McGee, they are lucky to still have you pulling civil service duty with your skill set. They will do what they have to in order to keep you."

"You're clear that I won't be using any technology that's still classified."

"Christ Almighty, you've told me that 39 times already. I am aware!"

McGee put a hand up. "Okay. I'll think about it."

Paul smiled. "Good. We need ya on this. 60 hours a month. You know that's $30,000 every month. You do that for a few months, and I think your debt problems are going to go away."

McGee closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. It would help."

…..

It was midnight when he got home, but he felt no urge for sleep. Instead, he sat down at the desktop and pulled up the work he'd already done for Paul's import business. Paul was right. Lombard Imports' online business was going to need more than 40 hours a month to get the firewalls properly secured. Adding another 20 hours sounded simple, but it wasn't as easy as sitting down an extra hour a night after work. He needed the right head space for something as exacting as writing code. 12 hours a day with Gibbs and Tony always left him either focused on a case or some weird DiNozzo comment he had yet to decipher.

McGee sighed and sat back. There was still too much wine in him to do the work properly. He would have to do 15 hours every weekend to keep up with the schedule, and as for Vance- breaking their existing agreement, even if it was by inches, stuck in gut. He had rules. Rules that existed so he could sleep at night believing that he was the person he was supposed to be.

Six months ago, this decision would've been easy. He was comfortable, sure that he needed no more than his cramped apartment, Toyota Prius, and an occasional itch for newest tech toys. Now, his financial situation was desperate in ways he couldn't even begin to explain to those closest to him.

…..

The knocking on the door was insistent, and he squinted at his alarm. 1:30 a.m. He'd barely gone to sleep. He pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out his Sig. Tony or Gibbs would've called. In shorts and a t-shirt, he padded into the hallway and yelled, "Who is it!?"

"FBI! Open up!"

He frowned. "Agent Fornell?"

"Open up this door!"

Just as McGee got to the peephole, there was a tremendous bang and the door exploded in on top of him.

…..

The room was bare, much like the interrogation room at NCIS. The chairs were nicer though and the table was longer, and apparently, the FBI believed in the power of grilling a subject under a naked bulb because the fluorescents were blinding.

His hosts were a couple of agents in cheap suits who had long lost the battle of the bulge. They both had thick Jersey accents, and were eating eggplant sandwiches in front of him with marinara and cheese oozing out the sides. They offered him nothing.

He sat in his t-shirt and a pair of jeans they allowed him, his right wrist handcuffed to the table. It was surreal. He'd been interrogated once before when he'd been a probie and shot an undercover cop. They hadn't handcuffed him then. They'd been hard, but at least he'd understood why he was in trouble. This is something altogether different.

One of the agents wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Tell us the story of how you came to know Paul Lombard again. I was laughing too hard the first time through to get all the details."

"I want to make a phone call."

"Nope," said the other guy, mouth full of sandwich.

"I have rights."

"Patriot Act," the agent said as he reached for his soda.

McGee jerked at his handcuff. "You got to be kidding me! I know the Patriot Act inside and out. All I did was have dinner with an old friend!"

"An old friend you are working for- one who has an import business and, thus, international ties. That raises all sorts of red flags. We know the Patriot Act too, my friend."

"I want to see Agent Fornell."

One man looked to the other and he shook his head. "No way. He basically works for you guys."

McGee sighed. "This is a huge mistake. Paul Lombard is an old friend. I knew him at MIT. We went to school together."

"Which I personally find hilarious. How did we not know that little Paulie went to MIT?"

The other man shrugged. "He was living with his mother growing up. The old man kept him away from the business."

"Hey McGee, did you ever meet the old man?"

"I don't know. Once. He and a couple of guys showed up and took a bunch of us out for pizza."

"You didn't notice anything familiar about the guy?"

McGee strained at the cuff. "I was 18 years old! I don't remember anything! I probably brought a textbook and ate pizza between chapters."

"Paul never told you that his real last name was Lombardozzi?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. Why would I care? Italian American names should put me on alert? My partner's name is DiNozzo. The guard at the gate called you Caruso. I should suspect you're someone other than a very confused FBI agent?"

The one named Caruso slammed the table. "Enough! You're a federal agent who just happens to be providing technical support to one of the biggest gun smugglers on the East Coast! Paul Lombardozzi! Son of Dominic Lombardozzi!"

The color drained from his face. "Dominic Lombardozzi- henchman for the Gambino family?"

"He ain't a hench nothing anymore. He controls the family's Jersey interests now, and in recent years, they've diversified into the gun trade."

McGee shook his head. "I did not know! Paul's a good guy. He was by the book all through school. I checked his business before I signed on. Director Vance knows all about it!"

"Well son, one of two things is happening here. Either, you're the dumbest fed I ever met or you're selling tech secrets to an international guns dealer."

…..

Tony wadded up a post-it note and threw it at Ellie. Her head jerked up.

"What?"

"Look at the time."

She blinked at the clock. "Well, it's ten minutes later than the last time you asked."

"10:20 a.m."

She furrowed her brows. "Is this still about McGee?"

"He's late."

"It's happened before, DiNozzo."

"Well, I don't like it. He's very prompt. Always. He leaves messages. He's anal about it."

Ellie leaned forward. "The relationship the two of you have is weird. You know that? All the looks. The secret language. You act like you don't really like each other, but I think you're kind of obsessed with each other."

Tony scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She threw up her hands. "I have brothers, you know, and you two act my two older brothers, Will and Dewey."

"I doubt that."

"No, you do. See, Will and Dewey had to share a room their whole lives. Well, not anymore, but when they were kids. They are the two most different people. Anyway, they were always fighting and whining about one another, but the minute that anyone went after one of them, the other was on his six- just like you two. They're still like that."

Tony sat back and blinked. "I always have Tim's back. That's a given. Always have, always will. Doesn't mean I don't poke at him. Gotta keep him on his toes, you know."

Ellie smiled. "Can I get back to work now?"

"I don't know. Did Will and Dewey get married- to other people, I mean. Are they leading normal lives?"

She rolled her eyes. "Where's Gibbs?"

They turned to find Abby in the squad room with a plastic container.

"He's up in MTAC, Abbs. He and Vance are conferencing regarding the situation in Nigeria."

"Oh. Okay. Just wanted to give him a cupcake. It's our half year anniversary of the first time we ever worked a case together."

Tony nodded. "Yes, an important day to be sure. However, the boss is upstairs solving world problems right now."

She deflated a little. "You think I should just leave it for him?"

"Not if you want it to still be there when Gibbs comes down," Ellie said.

Tony gave her a quick glare before announcing. "Timmy is missing."

"What!" She spun around to look at the empty desk.

"He's a couple of hours late," Ellie said, giving Tony a look.

Tony ignored her. "I've called and texted. I'm ready to send a squad over to the house."

"Maybe, he's sick. He's got a delicate disposition. Everyone knows that. Maybe, he got that beard disease again."

Ellie looked at the ceiling. "Then he would still come in to work but he would have nothing more than a five o'clock shadow. I'm sure he's fine."

"Abby, I think this is one of those situations." Tony said, watching her carefully.

"I don't like to track cells. You know that!" She stomped one of her steel-toed boots.

"I understand. You just go back to your lab, and imagine the 10,000 different things that might have happened to your sweet little Timmy." He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "I'm just sayin'."

Abby turned on her heels and headed for the stairs.

Ellie shook her head. "You don't really think she's going to…"

"There is nothing I know of that is more precious to Abby than her McGee." Tony smiled off into the distance.

…..

"You said you needed money. What's going on, McGee? Living above your means."

"No." McGee had lost track of time but it had clearly been some hours because the portly agents were on their second meal of the interrogation- a New York style pizza laid out on the table- none offered to him.

"Gambling? Women? Drugs? Come on, McGee. What is it?"

"It's personal." His answers had lost all sense of outrage. He just stared at the wall behind them and waited for the next one.

"We can't help you unless you talk to us, Tim."

"I am happy to elaborate and will do so, but only to the following individuals: Director Vance, Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agent DiNozzo, or Agent Fornell."

"Yes," said the one named Patterson, "but you aren't the one in charge. You can't dictate those things."

"It don't matter, Patty. I think we're going to find everything we need off those computers of his." Caruso said as he doubled over a slice in his meaty paw.

McGee sighed. "You've confiscated my computers?"

"Yup. Executed a warrant at 4 a.m. this morning."

McGee groaned. "You've got to be kidding me. You couldn't have waited until my neighbors went to work?"

"Hey! Numb nuts! Quit acting like you're going to clear this whole thing up with a phone call! We have your very admission that you were working for a known mafia-connected gun smuggler. This ain't going away."

His face reddened. "He's an old friend! I was consulting, with permission, for an old friend!"

Caruso's cell rang and he picked it up. He grunted a few times and then hung up. "Tech guys need your log-in. Seems they're having trouble getting on your computers."

McGee struggled to suppress a smile. "No."

"You say you don't got anything to hide, McGee! Cooperation is your friend. Give us the password!"

He took a deep breath. "Not until I speak to Agents Gibbs, DiNozzo, Fornell, or Director Vance."

Patterson screwed up his face. "Oh God! You are making my brain hurt. I am literally getting a migraine from looking at you. If you were any other hump, I'd have thrown you a beating by now. I swear to the virgin mother!"

"Okay! Okay, Patty! Take a break. Let's go walk it off." Caruso heaved his partner to his feet. At the door, he turned and wagged a finger at McGee. "We were going to let you have a slice, you stubborn little punk. Now, you get nothing."

…

"No, Fornell, he is in your building. I know he is because Abby tracked his cell…He is not picking up. What the hell is he doing over there?...I know you are our liaison, and so you should know these things. Why don't you?...Well, find out and send him on home. He knows better than to take candy from strangers. You don't want me to send Gibbs over there." Tony ended the call.

Ellie looked up. "You're actually worried about this."

"If McGee was over at the Federal building, we would know because it would be tied to a case. It feels weird. It's felt weird all day."

"You want to pull Gibbs out of MTAC?"

Tony grabbed his jacket. "No."

"Tony?"

"I'm going to get my partner," he said as he headed for the elevator.

…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Red Sky in Morning- WEE for Sazzita**

**Chapter 2**

He rested his head on his shoulder awkwardly, eyes closed. The agents had left a couple of hours ago when he stopped talking. He tried telling himself that there was something in the experience of being a suspect that would help him the next time he had to interrogate someone and he should focus on that, but the only thing showing up in his head was the possibility he'd never interrogate anyone ever again.

He heard the door open, but he didn't open his eyes. The older agents and their techniques annoyed him, and he was determined not to talk again until he saw a friendly face.

Something got tossed on the table and he sat up, blinking. A package of Nutter Butters skittered across the table and landed in his lap. He looked up and saw Fornell standing. "I heard you like these things. Found 'em in a vending machine."

"Does Gibbs know?" It surprised him how important that was.

"Just found out myself. They tried to keep me out of the loop. I've been arguing with the head of the Organized Crime unit the last hour."

"They're really invoking the Patriot Act? Denying me my rights?"

Fornell sighed and sat down. "It's a stretch and one I don't think is going to work for them. I think I convinced them that this would not be the correct strategy."

Tim swallowed. "I was doing something legal with permission. I had no idea. I never shared technology that wasn't public. I don't…I just don't…believe that my school buddy is mobbed up."

"Yeah, well, he is. Born into it. Probably was an innocent kid when you knew him, but the lure of easy money is too much for most people."

"They said I was guilty of treason."

Fornell winced. "Those guys play hard and they play mean. Just like the guys they're hunting. Organized Crime is no joke."

"I want to talk to my boss."

Before Fornell could answer, there was a disturbance in the hall, a bang on the door, and then DiNozzo burst through with Caruso and Patterson barreling through behind him. They attempted to tackle him, but Tony slipped through and danced over to the other side of the room.

"He said he was his lawyer," Patterson said, his face red with exertion. "Agent in the elevator recognized him as NCIS!"

Caruso tried to circle around the table, but Tony feinted to the left. Fornell stood up. "Enough! All of you! Stop!"

"You're under arrest, DiNozzo, for criminal trespass." Patterson spouted.

"Up yours, Patterson. I just came to see what you were doing with my partner! You're the ones who kidnapped him. Assholes!" DiNozzo stayed in a crouch, ready for attack. "Don't worry, McGee. I'm breaking you out of there."

Fornell turned to Patterson and Caruso. "Out! Now!"

"I knew you would louse this up, Fornell! Wait until the chief hears this!"

"Just spent the last hour with him. Why don't the two of you go check in him? He's not crazy about how the two of you played this."

"Go to hell, Tobias!" Caruso growled as he herded Patterson out of the room.

Tony sat down next to McGee. "What in holy McHell did you get yourself into?"

McGee looked away, shaking his head.

"I assume Jethro will be storming the building soon."

"I told Bishop to interrupt them in MTAC when I got here and found out what you idiots were up to."

"Come on, DiNozzo," Fornell said. "I didn't even know."

"Is he under arrest?"

"He was. I convinced Organized Crime to rethink that. I don't think he's a criminal anymore than you do, but he sure as hell got himself into a big mess."

McGee looked up at Fornell. "I can go?"

"There's still a lot to talk about, but I think there are more better ways to get it done. I figure you need some sleep and a shower to start."

He jerked at the handcuff. "Then get this thing off me!"

Fornell worked the cuff off his wrist. "The tech guys still can't get into your computers. It would help if you gave a password."

"No way," Tony said, shaking his head emphatically. "He's not giving you anything right now. We talk to Gibbs first."

"Cooperating would help."

"Cooperating!?" McGee jumped up, massaging his wrist. "You got to be kidding me! I get shanghaied from my apartment in the middle of the night and interrogated while denied counsel for God knows how many hours. What time is it anyway?"

"4 p.m. What time did they take you?" Tony retrieved the Nutter Butters from the floor.

"My alarm said 1:30 a.m. Denied a phone call. Nothing to eat or drink. I haven't been allowed a trip to the can. Nothing!" McGee's face flushed. "I cooperated all night long until they start accusing me of treasonous acts. I've had enough!" He ran a hand through his hair and walked out the door.

Tony looked at Fornell. "Get a good look at this. You don't see McGee hit a wall very often, but when it happens, he is immovable."

"This isn't going away, Tony."

He jabbed a finger at Fornell. "Well, whatever happens next better be a lot more civilized than this was."

….

McGee stood in the middle of his apartment and took it all in. There were his precious books strewn all over the floor. From where he stood, he could see the clothes from his closet and drawers piled high on his bed. He said nothing. Tony was doing plenty of that for both of them. DiNozzo strung together curses that had never before been introduced. He vowed revenge in various forms as he picked up books and piled them on McGee's shelves.

"I know you have a certain order, Tim. Let me just get them off the floor at least."

Tim acknowledged him with a nod and drifted over to a window, staring down at the street. "What did I do?"

Tony stood up with a pile of books in his arms. "You didn't do anything wrong. I know you better than I know myself. You did everything the right way. Hell, you even asked Vance for permission to freelance. I mean, who does that?"

"It's policy, Tony," he replied with a hint of annoyance.

"Exactly. You do everything by the book. These guys got overzealous. The Organized Crime guys get too close to all the easy money and short cuts. They think they can bully their way through everything."

"I never knew he was anyone other than Paul Lombard."

"We'll work it out. Don't worry." Tony pulled out his phone. "I am taking pictures of this carnage. There will be retribution."

"I feel like an idiot," he sighed.

"Enough of that."

They both turned to find Gibbs in the doorway.

"Look what they did!" Tony said, gesturing to the room.

Gibbs stayed focused on McGee. "You didn't get any sleep last night, did ya?."

He shook his head.

"Pack a bag. You're coming to stay with me."

"Come on, Boss. I want to stay here. I just want to be alone."

"No, you don't." Gibbs stepped around books on the floor. "The warrant was signed for a week in total. They could come back at any time and search again. You don't want to be here for that."

McGee shook his head. "I think I stepped into something big, and I don't think you can get me out of it. This didn't just start yesterday."

"No, it didn't. It started sometime before you got permission to do some consulting work."

McGee swallowed. "You knew about that?"

"Vance knows better than to give you permission for something like that without talking to me."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that, myself," Tony said. "When did that start? I mean, you've been a little off for a while now. You work enough hours for two people and you wanted another job? I don't get it."

Gibbs' eyes never left McGee's. "Tony, go pack him a bag. He's coming to stay with me."

"I am not!" McGee slapped the windowsill.

"Tony."

DiNozzo slipped into the bedroom and left the two of them.

McGee rubbed his mouth. "I just think it would be better if I handled this myself."

"I think you've been trying to handle it by yourself for some time now. How's that working for you?"

"Boss, you're not the kind of man to reach out for help. Why can't I be that kind of man too?"

"Really?!" Gibbs chortled. "You aspire to that?"

"You are your own man."

"And I've spent much of the last twenty years being a closed off, ornery son of a bitch. Tim, haven't you seen a change in me the last few years?"

Tim furrowed his brow. "I guess so."

"I've let myself have family again, and it feels good."

"Sometimes, a man wants to protect his family or, at least, to not burden them."

Gibbs took a deep breath in. "One day, some day, I'm going to get sick. It's just how life works. When that happens, do you want me to hide that from you?"

Tony appeared in the doorway and leaned against it, watching the two of them.

Tim shook his head. "I know what it's like because my father did that and it's wrong. I don't want you to do that."

"When things go wrong, you let family in. That's what you do. I may be a slow learner, but I'm clear on that."

"These are my mistakes," he said softly.

"The boss and I have your six, Tim. Always been that way, always will be."

Tony said. "I packed a bag for you. I found all your favorite things. Made sure I put in your dental floss, fresh toothbrush, some nice lotion, fresh boxers, your favorite stuffed animal,-"

"DiNozzo!"

…..

McGee stared up at the sky. It was hard to find the stars living in the city, even on the clearest of nights. He remembered how amazed he'd been at the bright stars the first time he camped out. The camp leader had spent hours pointing out different constellations, and ignited an obsession in him with astronomy- an obsession that lasted until his father told him it was a useless science for a future Navy admiral. His father's continual disappointment still stung.

He heard a noise behind him and turned. Gibbs was standing there. "What are you doing on my front porch at 4 a.m.?"

"Couldn't sleep."

Gibbs eased down on the step next to him. "You really need to though, Tim. You and I are going to meet with Fornell in the morning."

"You never asked why I needed the money."

"You'll tell me when you're ready."

Tim nodded. "Thom E. Gemcity."

Gibbs frowned. "What about it?"

"I never finished my second book."

"I know."

"Two men died because of that book. I couldn't write it. Plus, I'd promised not to write about you again."

"You've always been good at keeping your promises."

McGee sighed. "My publisher sued me for breach of contract."

"Yeah, I remember. You said that it got taken care of."

"Well, not exactly," he said. "You see, the truth is that I lost the case. I appealed, and it sat in appellate court for a few years, but I lost that too. A judgment came down a few months ago. I owe my publisher roughly $100,000. 60 for the book and 40 for court costs."

"That's ridiculous! You can't…there must be further avenues for appeal."

"It's expensive, Boss, and I'm tired of it. Every time, I have to deal with it, I'm confronted with those deaths. I just want it done."

"You should've said something, Tim."

"So we all could remember back to the time I almost got Abby killed? I don't think so. The truth is that I did the wrong thing when I wrote those books, and these are the consequences."

"How did you get hooked up with Paul?"

"I'm part of an alumni community through MIT. When I realized that I was going to pay up to $6,000 a month, I knew that I needed extra cash. I talked to Vance, and told him that it was a personal matter, and he gave me a 6 month exception for 40 hours a month. So I put up a message saying I was looking for consulting work. Paul contacted me the next day."

"He knew you were NCIS?"

"Yup. Full disclosure. I made it clear that I wouldn't use any classified technology. I mean, that's the weird part. Knowing all that, why would he want anything to do with me?"

Gibbs sighed. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"He showed me his setup. Admittedly, it didn't look like much. That should've been a clue. It was a probably a front."

"Yeah, I'm sure you weren't studying anything too closely."

"I thought I followed all the rules. I did a background check on Paul, and there was nothing there. Of course, his family connections weren't going to show up there, but I should've gone further. How did I not know he was mobbed up?"

They were both silent for a few moments, side by side on the steps. Then McGee shook his head. "Man, I deserve whatever I got coming."

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder. "Don't do that. That's the part of you that has always concerned me. Remember when you confessed to murdering Lieutenant Benedict? You internalize what you see as your mistakes. You're ready to take the fall. You think you deserve punishment. This kind of thinking worries me. It always has."

Tim looked at him. "I know you hate apologies."

"So don't give me one. What's done is done. The first order of business is getting out of this mess with the FBI."

"Yeah." He pointed at the sky. "I used to love looking at the constellations. I was thinking about that before you came out here."

Gibbs nodded. "Growing up in Stillwater, they were as clear as day up in the sky. You lose so much of that in city life. I miss it."

McGee sighed. "Me too, Boss. Me too."

…..

McGee and DiNozzo sat in the reception area of FBI Assistant Director Madison's office. In chairs across from them sat Agents Caruso and Patterson, arms folded across their chests. No one said a word since they arrived, but it was clear that there was no love lost between the two pairs.

Finally Patterson spoke. "It must be nice being an admiral's son. How many favors did daddy have to call in to buy you a free pass?"

McGee looked away but DiNozzo leaned forward. "Ugly and dumb: How did your mama ever stand it?"

"Tony," McGee warned.

"Cheap shots," Caruso growled. "That all you got, DiNozzo?"

"Caruso, it truly amazes me that our people came over from the same country?"

Caruso snorted. "I look at you and I see nothing but a haircut and a suit. I bet you've never had a decent Sunday gravy with gnocchi in your entire life."

"I look at you and I don't see anything but a big old greasy meatball."

Caruso started to get up, but Patterson stopped him. "Sit down! You trying to get fired?"

Caruso glared and pointed. "You and me, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned. "I can't wait."

"We're not done with you, McGee. Your daddy can't fix everything for you."

"He didn't fix anything for me, Agent Patterson. Everything I told you was the truth."

Patterson shook his head. "If that's true, then you are one stupid son of a bitch."

Tony lunged at Patterson, but McGee tackled him from behind. Caruso and Patterson were on their feet shouting, and then a man was shouting, "That's enough!"

Tony and Tim rolled over to find to Director Vance standing over them. The door to the office opened and Gibbs and Fornell came out followed by Assistant Director Madison. Gibbs shook his head. "Get off the floor, both of you!"

Vance extended a hand to Madison. "Damn, I'm sorry about this, Bill. I expect better out of my people."

Madison gave Caruso and Patterson a long look. "I suspect that there was more than enough provocation. Come in my office and let's talk."

Gibbs gestured to McGee. "You too."

Tony threw up his hands. "You going to leave me out here with these gorillas?!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Get in here, DiNozzo."

The door closed on the two original agents on the case.

…..

Madison looked down at McGee seated at the conference table. "Son, you have a hell of a long list of references."

Tim jerked his head in Vance's direction. "Did someone call my dad?"

He shook his head.

Madison chuckled. "A Navy admiral doesn't carry much weight in this office. You're being backed by Gibbs, Vance, and Fornell."

McGee looked around the table. "Thanks to all of you. I had no idea that Paul was doing anything criminal."

"They all believe that," Madison said as he walked the room. "As for me…I don't know. Right now, we have an excellent circumstantial case that puts you behind bars for 20 years. Without the support you're getting, we would be charging you."

Tony sucked in air.

McGee blinked. "So…what happens now?"

Madison stopped and looked at him. "We use you to infiltrate the Lombardozzi organization."

"Undercover?" He asked slowly.

"Yup."

"Ah, Boss," Tony said half rising out of his seat. "Can you explain how that's not such a good idea?"

Gibbs gave him a sharp look and DiNozzo dropped back into his seat.

"I echo DiNozzo's concern," Vance said with a sour look on his face. Doesn't seem well-planned. Looks like we're just jumping on an opportunity. A good undercover operation requires a lot of coordination."

"Gibbs and I will be running it jointly," Fornell said.

Gibbs still sat there silently.

"I'm not known for my undercover work, but..um…I'll do what it takes to make this right." McGee figured it was good that his hands were safely under the table. He had to clasp them together tightly to stop the tremors.

"Gibbs, you gonna just sit there impersonating a statue all day?" Vance said.

Gibbs looked at McGee. "First thing that needs to happen is for me to fire you."

…..


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much for reading. Two more chapters after this. Sheila

Chapter 3

Tony steeled himself as he got off the elevator. There was a small crowd already gathered in the bullpen. It was clear that security had come and gone. Bishop spotted him first. "He's here. Hopefully, he knows something."

Abby bounded toward him. "Security went through McGee's stuff. Packed it all up. They wouldn't answer any questions. What happened? Where's Gibbs?"

He accepted her hug silently, and noted the look in Ducky's eyes. The old man knew better than to delude himself as to what was happening. Jimmy looked as nervous as Tony had ever seen him.

Abby's eyes were wet. "Clearly, it's a mistake. We just need to get it cleared up. Where's Gibbs?"

Tony draped his coat over his chair and sat down. There was no reason that the boss had to carry the entire weight. "Listen up, folks. I got news. McPerfect made a mistake- one he couldn't get out of. It's taken me all day to accept it, but it is what it is."

Ducky folded his arms. "Elaborate, please, Anthony."

Tony took a breath. "He screwed up and he got fired. Simple as that."

"No!" Abby stomped her foot.

"Look, I didn't want to believe it either, but he admitted it. I was there and he admitted it."

"So, he made a mistake." Jimmy threw up his arms. "We all make mistakes."

"Not the kind that threaten national security," Tony said in a low voice.

Bishop folded her arms tightly across her chest. "That doesn't sound like McGee. That doesn't seem like him at all."

"Well, you could've knocked me over with a feather too, but the truth is the truth. And I sure as hell am not going to let his screw up ruin my career. I would suggest the rest of you accept it and move on." Tony pretended an interest in a file on his desk.

The elevator dinged and Gibbs appeared, coffee in hand. Abby came at him. "Gibbs, tell me it's not true!"

He stiffened with her hug. "Abby, I don't discuss personnel matters with you."

She stepped away. "He's been loyal to you for ten years."

He brushed by all of them and sat down. "Since Tony obviously has brought you up to speed, there isn't much else to say." He glared at each of them in turn. "Am I the only one here with work to do?"

"Jethro, we're looking for answers," Ducky said softly.

"Well you, of all people, know that's not how this works. People do dumb things, and, sometimes, even I can't fix it. I don't get to share the details. You know that."

"But Gibbs-"

"No! It's over! There's nothing to talk about."

"Gibbs," Abby's voice was shaky. "You and McGee are my two favorite people in the entire world. There's no way you would turn on him like this. No way."

His eyes softened. "I didn't turn on him. He made his own choices and there was nothing I could do."

She bit her lip. "He must be devastated."

"Abbs," Tony said as he got up and put his arms around her. "He's going to be fine. He's so marketable that it would honestly be weird if he didn't leave at some point."

She pulled away. "He got fired! Security took his things! He's a proud man and he cares about the work he does. This has to be killing him."

"Abbs." Gibbs stood, but she shook her head and ran for the stairs. Jimmy trotted after her.

Ducky studied his old friend. "Jethro, you have always felt like the brother I never had, and most of the time, I am really grateful for that bond. Now is not one of those times."

Ellie sat on her desk watching all of this with her brows furrowed deeply. Analyzing data, reports of human behaviors, and patterns had always been her strength. Socially, things had been a little more complicated. Even as a child, she found the unpredictable and emotional nature of people in direct interactions overwhelming. Her gut told her that the pieces didn't fit, but she was still unclear as to what the pieces were. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I, uh, need some food- candy…or chocolate…although chocolate is candy. Um, cheese puffs are good although they get all over your fingers…or potato chips. Red licorice might hit the spot."

Tony pulled a $20 out of his wallet. "Do us a favor and make a store run."

She let out breath, snatched his twenty, and headed for the elevator.

Tony wheeled his chair over to Gibbs' desk and straddled its back. "Convince me that we handled that well."

"Focusing their anger at me keeps them occupied."

"If they don't get answers from you, they're going to go looking for him."

"McGee will handle them."

Tony snorted. "Okay. Great plan. Did you see the look on her face? Or Ducky's? Jimmy's? Hell, Bishop is going to eat her weight in junk food over this. They care about him a lot. He inspires that in people, you know."

"There's isn't a cleaner way to do this. The story has to be the same in all parts of his life. No other way."

Tony nodded.

Gibbs watched him stare aimlessly off into the distance. "Hey DiNozzo! Wake up!"

Tony blinked at him.

"Get that gut under control. You're wearing your anxiety all over your face."

"He's not built for this kind of mission."

"McGee will surprise you. He always has."

"Surprise me?" Tony sat up straight. "Probie has been an open book to me since the first day I met him. Pretty technical read- boring at some points, interesting at others- surprising…never. Not my probie."

Gibbs sighed. "Have it your way. Just make sure you're there to check in with him tonight."

…..

McGee had his elbows on a railing over the Potomac when he saw Paul coming his direction. He straightened up, river wind blowing his light brown hair away from his face. He knew he could do this because every emotion he was feeling was real.

"Hey Tim," Paul said as he got closer. "What's going on?"

"You're a member of the Lombardozzi family."

Paul stopped short, his dark curls dancing in the breeze. "And you are a member of the McGee family."

"The McGee's aren't a crime syndicate."

Paul closed his eyes. "Nor are all of the Lombardozzi's."

"You got me fired today."

"What?!"

"I did it. What you asked. I asked for the 20 additional hours. My boss found out. He's a stickler for honesty. I told you that. Told you he would hate sharing me. He blew up. Then he had your business investigated. So yesterday, the FBI picked me up. Questioned me for hours. They said your business was a front for gun smuggling. I missed a federal indictment by a hair. I got called in this morning and they fired me."

"The feds think I'm dirty?"

Tim shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. It was hard to tell. They wanted to know if your work overlapped with your family's. I didn't know enough to answer them."

Paul hit the railing with his palm. "I am not responsible for my father's crimes!"

"Do you admit you are a member of the Lombardozzi family?"

"That's not a crime."

McGee growled. "Then why did you never say anything?"

"Because I didn't want to be defined by him. Besides, he didn't want that life for me. He wanted something better. That's how I ended up at MIT."

"And now, you're running an import business."

Paul shrugged. "I'm a better businessman than engineer."

"So I end up screwed…or was that the plan?"

"I would have no reason to hurt you, Tim."

"Why did you reach out to a federal agent?"

"I didn't. I reached out to a former classmate- a guy I knew would do a meticulous job on online security for my business."

Tim shook his head and looked down.

"Can you appeal your termination? It's a government job. There has to be ways."

"I told you that my boss is a hard man. Even if I won an appeal, he would never accept me back. It's over. My career is done."

"I'm sorry, Tim. I had no idea this would happen."

McGee nodded. "Well, it did. So, where do we stand?"

Paul blinked. "You still want to work for me? The FBI didn't scare you off?"

"You're running an honest business, right?"

"Of course."

"You have work for me, correct?"

"I mean, yeah. I don't know that I can take you on full time, but I can push you up to 80 hours a month."

"I'll take whatever you have."

Paul narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure, Tim?"

"I got debts and no prospects. I need the money."

"You trust me?"

McGee sighed. "It wouldn't be the first witch hunt that my boss went on, and I'd like to prove him wrong."

Lombardozzi studied him for a long moment. "Alright. Let's do it, Tim."

…

McGee opened the door to his apartment and found the lights on. He started to reach for his weapon when he heard, "McSpy!"

"Hey Tony, I thought you were going to call." He relaxed his grip on the gun and took it out, sliding it into the cupboard by the door.

Tony sat amidst a pile of books. "I got thinking about the mess in your place, and I had some decorating ideas."

McGee blinked. The bookshelves were rearranged against the wall leaving more open space in his living area. All of my books won't fit this way. I've tried it."

"Standing the books upright, you don't, but your shelves have good head room so…if we stack them on their sides, we make better use of space." Tony pointed to the one finished shelf.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "I never thought about that. It looks weird but it kinda works."

"Yeah, I think so too." Tony leaned against the wall and stood up. "How was your meet with Lombardozzi?"

McGee sat down. "Could we be wrong about him?"

"Oh my God!" Tony dropped his face in his hands. "I knew you would be like this. You're such a softie. '_Let's give Paul the benefit of the doubt'_. But, seriously, you don't have the luxury of second guessing yourself- not when you're undercover."

"Alright! I know. It just doesn't seem so clear cut, you know!"

"Stay focused, McGee."

"I know."

"Abby been burning up your phone?"

McGee sighed as he sat back. "I told her Gibbs was right and I was wrong. I told her that she didn't want to know the specifics."

Tony's eyebrows rose. "And that was enough?"

"I told her I needed space and she calmed down after that."

"Seriously? Our Abby?"

"I don't think she really wanted to know what happened. When this is over, I am going to be doing a lot of apologizing."

Tony blew air. "You have no idea. You, me, and Gibbs are going to be in the doghouse."

"Yeah." McGee got up and went into the kitchen. "Beer?"

"Sure," Tony said getting up and finding a chair. "Say, ah, Gibbs told me about your money problems."

Noise in the kitchen stopped and Tony waited a long moment for him to emerge. McGee's face was flushed and he didn't say anything when he handed the beer to DiNozzo.

Tony took a swig. "He had to tell me. I'm basically your handler. I need to know everything. If you're distracted, I need to know why."

"I'm not distracted."

"You've been carrying this monkey on your back for how long?"

"Tony," Tim said shaking his head.

"I mean it. We've forgotten about it. It's not a thing. And you know that it wasn't your fault. Everyone knows it."

"Two people died because of what I wrote. Abby almost died. I didn't think about the consequences. I wasn't honest with you and I wasn't honest with myself."

Tony put his beer down and leaned forward. "So it makes sense that you should be forced to pay $100,000 to your former employer at a rate of $6,000 per month?"

"Karma's a bitch, Tony."

"Oh please! You're going to just lay there and take it."

McGee threw up his hands. "I don't know what else to do. The alternatives are not attractive."

"You shouldn't have kept it a secret."

"Not everything is your business."

"Well, this is."

McGee screwed up his face. "Are we married?"

A smile spread across Tony's face. "Only in the ways that really matter, Timmy."

"Oh God," Tim groaned. "You're like a fly buzzing around my ear. I can never seem to get rid of you."

"What would life be without me?"

"I don't know. Should we try it and find out?"

"No, no, little Timmy," Tony said as he got to his feet. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me. In the meantime, I've gotten a bit peckish. Let's order in and you can give me an entire rundown of your contact with Lombardozzi."

….

McGee drove up to old warehouse on Baltimore's pier. It was from another era, most of these old buildings given already given up to condo renovation and restaurants. This one was at the bottom of the pier in a high crime neighborhood, away from the hustle of the tourist flow half a mile north. There was little traffic coming in and out- just the kind of place you'd want if you were smuggling.

He climbed out and looked out on the bay. Seagulls sounded overhead as the bay lapped against the pier. The gentle rhythm of water against the timbers was a familiar noise. A Navy brat was never too far away from the sea.

"You never wanted to be in the Navy like your old man, huh?"

McGee blinked as he searched for the mind reader. Paul came around the corner.

"Hey Paul, I was just looking out on the drink. It does bring up memories."

"Were you running away from your pops like I was when we met at MIT?"

McGee concentrated. "At the time, we both thought it was a good idea, but it just solidified my status as a geek. He used to say that MIT ruined me for good."

"My pops thought that MIT squeezed all of the family business out of me. He was proud."

"You still see him? The feds say he got out of Sing Sing in February."

Paul looked away and snorted. "He's my pops, Tim. Of course, I see him. I'm on the phone with him every day. That's what family is all about. To me, he's just my dad."

"Sorry."

What? How often do you talk to your old man?"

McGee's mouth twitched. "Every few months."

"Hah! Now who's got a screwed up family life?"

McGee reddened and he looked away.

"Hey! Come on! I'm Italian. I say like it is. You're the same. You think the same things- you just don't say it is all."

"Yeah," Tim managed a lukewarm smile.

"Come on in. Look around!" Paul guided him into the warehouse. Boxes with Italian labels were piled high in the big, open doorway. Beefy guys in t-shirts and hard hats were using lifts to stack boxes in the bowels of the building. Paul pointed toward a walk up to a set of dimly lit offices. "Let me show you around. Give you something to tell the feds when you go home."

McGee stopped and looked at Paul. "You really think that's what I'm doing?"

Paul patted him on the back. "I'm saying it doesn't matter. You can look around all you want and say whatever you want to whomever. Nothing dirty is happening out of this warehouse. Nothing."

"I believe you, Paul. Now show me around."

…

"Well, his mother's relatives in Southern Italy have a small canning factory for San Marzano tomatoes. He's importing them and selling them at high end Italian delis up and down the coast. He made pasta with them for lunch. It was really good."

"So, he knows how to cook," Tony said as he piled more lo mein onto his plate. "What else?"

"Shipment comes in every week on Thursday. It's inspected. Boxes are loaded from the warehouse onto a truck and off to the delis. He seems very open about everything. Keeps joking with me that I'm working for the feds."

Gibbs grunted. "He wants you on your toes. He's playing a game and he thinks he's smarter than you."

"Well, if this is a game then he is smarter than me. Everything sounds honest to me. I keep trying to imagine that I was watching him in interrogation. I can spot tells there."

Gibbs frowned. "Don't, Tim. Just be in the moment. Don't worry about catching him in a lie. It's not natural. Just be natural. When we debrief, we can help you analyze it."

Fornell came out of the kitchen with reheated Chinese short ribs. "Jethro's right. Just be natural. The truth is that you do a helluva' job recalling conversations. Gives us a lot to work with."

Tim pushed back his chair. "That's the thing. I'm not sure if we're going to get anywhere at all. If he's playing me, he's playing me like a pro."

"Oh, he's playing you, McPawn. Keep that straight," Tony said spearing short ribs onto his plate.

Tim turned to Gibbs. "How are things between you and Abby?"

"Don't worry about that."

"She's not calling me at all right now. I'm feeling bad for her. I know this is eating her up."

"She left an eaten cupcake wrapper on Gibbs' desk this morning so I imagine that she's eating something up."

McGee winced. "Oh, that's a bad sign. She's really upset."

"Yeah, she's pissed."

"Boss, I'm worried about her."

"McGee! I am handling it!" Gibbs smacked the table.

Tim blinked at him. "Okay Boss."

Fornell leaned toward him. "You can't afford a distraction, Tim. I know it seems like Lombardozzi is a good guy, but our sources tell us otherwise. Some of the most entertaining men I have ever met have been mobbed up. They're making you pasta one minute and stabbing you in the neck the next."

Tony choked on the rib. "Thanks for the visual, Fornell."

Gibbs pointed a finger at McGee. "Stay focused."

"Got it."

Fornell studied Gibbs. "You struggling with something, Jethro?"

"I don't know," he said shaking his head. "I get the feeling that Lombardozzi knows exactly what he's doing, and I don't like that. What if he really believes that McGee is undercover? What's in it for him to have McGee around?"

Fornell shrugged. "I've seen it before. The suspect uses the undercover as proof that he's not doing anything illegal. McGee hangs out a few months, nothing happens, and we back off."

"He assumes Tim is a plant so he puts on a show. A few months down the road we decide that our intel was bad, and that Lombardozzi is just a mafioso's kid trying to live a clean life."

"Maybe he is clean," McGee mumbled.

Fornell nodded. "Always possible but I doubt it. I think our intel is very good."

McGee caught a warning look from Gibbs. "Boss, I was suggesting put forth a theory. Besides, I can't really see the danger. If he thinks I am still a fed, there is no way he'd ever try and hurt me."

Tony snorted. "Because criminals operate from a place of logic, right?"

McGee looked at the ceiling. "Right. Okay. I gotta go. I'm hoping to pull the hard drives tomorrow with those super powered flash drives."

Fornell scowled. "And you're sure they won't leave a trace of the download."

"Absolutely. These things are remarkable. They essentially freeze the hard drive and upload without a trace. It's pretty amazing."

Gibbs locked eyes with him. "Take your time and pick a good moment, Tim."

He nodded. "Got it, Boss."

….

McGee climbed the rickety steps of the old warehouse and waved to Paul. "Hey. How you doing today?"

"Good. It's going to hit 100 degrees. Thank God we're on the water. Air conditioners are no good because this old place leaks like a sieve."

"I've got the firewall protection. I'm ready to put it on the company computers…unless you want to do it. I don't know if you want me that close to the operations."

"Still worried I don't trust you?"

Tim shrugged. "You got reasons to be cautious. I'm just grateful for the work is all."

"I meant it when I said that I have nothing to hide."

"Good. It's going to take me about an hour per machine."

A thick eyebrow rose on Paul's face. "Sounds like some firewall."

"I need to do some maintenance first to make sure that everything is running well."

Paul made a gesture with his hand. "Do what you gotta do, my friend."

"Figlio mio!"

Both men looked down the stairs to see an older man stepping out of the car. Paul smiled. "Hey Pops!"

"What are you doing on such a day? We should be sitting in the garden sipping Prosecco."

"Sounds like a great idea!"

"Who is this paisan? This is the fed you hired?"

"Yeah, Pops, but he's a former fed. Got fired."

"Ah," the old man said as they descended the stairs. McGee noted that the older man kept a wary eye on him. He stepped forward. "I'm Tim McGee."

Dominic Lombardozzi nodded and slowly extended a hand. McGee shook it. "Good to meet you, sir."

He chuckled. "I've never been a 'sir'. How does a fed get fired these days?"

"He hooks up with a bunch like us," Paul said.

"Hmm. Interesting," the elder Lombardozzi said.

McGee felt the heat rise in his face and did his best to stay stoic. "It's actually a little more complicated than that. My boss, he's a real control freak, and he felt like I betrayed him."

"Loyalty is the most important quality in a man," Lombardozzi said.

McGee nodded. "Yes, and he had mine, but it got a little stifling."

"I've never felt that way. Being loyal to a friend, a paisano. Nothing is more important in life."

McGee nodded. He knew that color was building in his cheeks, and he wasn't sure if it was the steely eyes of the old Mafioso or the need to mis-characterize his relationship with Gibbs. "Well, I better get back to work. Paul, is it okay if I start on the computers in the front office?"

"Whatever works, Tim. Pops and I are going to find some place cool to have some lunch."

McGee responded with a tight smile before ascending the stairs again.

…

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: One more chapter to go. I hope you are still reading. Thank you. Sheila

Chapter 4

"A 16 oz. can of these tomatoes is produced for .67 cents, sold to Paul for $2.31, and shipped for .79 cents. It then costs .21 cents to transport to groceries and delis where they purchase it from him for $5.43. Paul makes a profit of $2.12 on each can. He distributes 1687 cans to 57 delis or groceries a week for a total of $3576.44 profit. It's decent, but not by much. Paul says they are looking to expand into other products, but with labor and warehouse costs, he has to be barely breaking even. That's pretty interesting don't you think, Tony?"

Tony looked up from his magazine. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch all that. There was some paint drying on the other side of the room that stole all my attention."

"Come on. I downloaded everything on their computers. Inventory lists. Client list. Shipping information. Everything. There has to be a clue in here somewhere. You know- the devil is in the details."

"Okay. I have to say I am interested in the 57 places they deliver to each week."

"Exactly! It would be a great way to distribute guns. We should look at all of these places. Make sure they're legitimate. Plus, I found something else out that was interesting."

Tony sat up. "What?"

"The manifest of the shipping container is on average 278-376 lbs. heavier than what it should be for number of crates being shipped."

Tony shrugged. "Are you sure that's a big deal? Maybe, that's a common mistake in shipping? Are you figuring in the weight of the crates?"

"Think about this. Each crate weighs 39.3 lbs and carries 24 cans of tomatoes. Each can weighs 1.24 lbs. and the crate weighs 9.54 lbs. If the ship manifest is right, then that means that approximately 8-10 crates are not being counted in the warehouse. Now if guns were broken down and fit into crates that measured 32" by 18" by 24", I wonder how many guns could be transported in 8-10 crates every week."

Tony nodded. "Now that is some interesting math. Good work. How many crates do they move every week? What's the ratio of real crates to contraband?"

"70-75, depending on the week when the manifest is showing weight for 78-85 crates."

Tony shook his head. "Seems like a risky ratio. 1 out of 7 crates being contraband."

"Maybe, the crates carry both tomatoes and guns. Maybe, they are hiding the guns under the tomatoes. The crates they use are recycled. Still, a few break and I see them tossed outside the back of the warehouse. It might be worth taking a look at a few of the broken ones."

"Okay. Sounds like something. Try to grab a few tomorrow when you visit."

McGee sat back in his chair, brows furrowed. "We should compare the weight of guns versus cans of tomatoes. I wish we knew what kind of guns he was smuggling."

"From that part of the world, it's probably Russian made. A Saiga semi-automatic is only 7.9 lbs., illegal as all hell, and sells for maybe $1200 on the U.S. black market."

"Let's subtract the weight of 9 crates from the 300 average extra lbs. showing up on the manifest. The weight of 9 crates puts us at about 85 lbs. Subtract that from 300 and you have 215 lbs. for weapons. Divide by 8 lbs. per rifle and that puts us at about 27 rifles."

Tony was out of his seat and pacing. "Okay. Let's imagine that they bought the rifles at $400 each out of an arms dealer in Italy that deals in Russian weapons, and they sell them at $1200 each here in the U.S. That's $800 profit on each weapon. Multiply that by 27 rifles per week and you have?"

"$21,600 per week. $80-90,000 per month in profits."

"Now the import business makes sense. But it still doesn't put him in the big leagues."

Tim was on his feet, hands in his pockets. "He's still new at this. Growing his business. He's on the FBI radar because of his family name. Now, it makes more sense why he wants me around."

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "There is no easy way to see all of this. If you're a plant, then you go back to the FBI after a couple of months, and you say that there's nothing here. You have to be a freak for minutiae to put this together."

"I guess that's my thing."

"Are you kidding!" Tony slapped him on the back. "You are the king of the tiny detail. No one is better than building a case out of a small discrepancy in the numbers. You are a freak for details! You are McMinutiae!"

Tim smiled at Tony's excitement. "Okay, but we don't know anything for sure yet. Probably better study some of those broken crates. I can grab some in the next week or so."

"Do that but be careful. Write down the numbers and I'll run them by Gibbs and Fornell."

Tim cocked his head. "Yeah, where is the boss today?"

…

Gibbs sat in the well-manicured lobby and looked up at the author photos on the wall. He stopped at Lyndi Crawshaw's photo and frowned. She had been the book editor who had faked the crazy fan letters on Tim's book. The distraction had cost them valuable time in looking for Tim's stalker. He remembered what a haughty, self-involved woman she was. He was glad that they'd been able to get the federal tampering charges to stick. He seemed to recall that she got 1-3 years in the pen.

A middle-aged man wearing a suit coat and an argyle sweater visit opened his door. "Mr Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded.

"I'm Mitchell Graham." The man extended a hand and then ushered him into the office.

The man peered at him over a pair of reading glasses as he rounded the desk and gestured for Gibbs to sit. "Is your name really L.J. Gibbs?"

"Yes."

The man softly chuckled. "If I had been Tim's editor, I would've urged him to create a more subtle pseudonym for you."

Gibbs said nothing as he scanned the room, wall to wall with books.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Lyndi Crawshaw still works here? I saw her picture on the wall."

"No, actually we fired her. Now she's here as an author. We've recently published a book that she wrote."

Gibbs frowned. "Any good?"

"She wrote about her time in the penitentiary," He said with a shrug. "Her prose is solid, and there is a market for prison memoirs right now, but, frankly, she doesn't have much of an emotional connection to her experience or the people she met. It reads a little dry."

"Will it sell?"

"Probably, but not as strongly as she thinks it will. Are you really here to talk about Lyndi?"

"Timothy McGee works for me. I understand your company has won a judgment against him for $100,000."

"Yes, we did. We had to appeal, but we won, and the judgment is binding."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "He doesn't have that kind of money. Was this was really necessary?"

Graham sighed. "He had a contract and that's not a small thing. Publishing is a very particular business. We are at the mercy of talented writers who are hot one minute and cold the next. I can't tell you how many of our writers turn out 2-3 books, accept an advance on a 4th, and then go blank when it comes time to write. We do everything we can to motivate and support them, but, in the end, they have to write the book or return the money."

"The advance you gave him was for $20,000, but he has to pay you for $100,000."

"We start adding interest to un-returned advances. Plus, there were the court costs. We don't ignore contracts. It's no way to run a business."

Gibbs took a deep breath. "Tim works incredibly long hours as a Navy law enforcement officer. He does good, honest work, and is integral in our efforts to catch murderers, traitors, terrorists. I can't really express the importance his efforts have had in keeping not just Navy personnel safe but all Americans."

"I appreciate that."

"Do you? The stress of this enormous debt has really hurt him and is affecting his work. It's put him in a really tenuous position- all because he couldn't finish a book."

"We're a small publishing house. Deep six was a big seller for us, Mr. Gibbs. We had a lot riding on the sequel, Rock Hollow."

"You must know the story. A very dangerous stalker got a hold of the book and used it to kill people. There is no way he could return to that book. He has too much integrity to try and profit from a book that caused so much pain."

"Yes and Lyndi Crawshaw's actions made it worse."

"Exactly!"

"Mr. Gibbs, if I give him a pass, I have to give them all a pass. There will always be circumstances that impede a writer's work."

"Mr. Graham, this is not a writer who was lazy or irresponsible. He got caught in a dangerous game that was triggered by this book."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Gibbs nodded.

"I understand that you and the rest of the team were really troubled when characters in the book were based off of them."

"Yeah. We weren't happy about that."

"Why?"

"It felt like an invasion of privacy."

"So every part of L.J. Tibbs was you."

"No. Not exactly. There were several departures from my life, but there were also many similarities."

"And the other characters? Were they exact representations?"

Gibbs sighed. "No."

"Are you aware that almost every successful writer has used either their own life experience or people from their own lives as inspirations for the characters they create?"

"It took a long time for McGee to admit that he was doing that."

"And that bothered you?"

Gibbs frowned. "I don't understand these questions."

"He may have taken from your lives, but he treated you all with care in the books. Well, almost all of you. If there is a real Pimmy Jalmer, I am sure he isn't into necrophilia."

"What is your point?"

"He doesn't have to finish Rock Hollow. I had this conversation with him several times. I told him I would forgive the debt if he starts from scratch and writes any L.J. Tibbs book. People want a follow up to Deep Six. Only he won't because he has promised all of you never to use characters that resemble you again. Do you know how many novelists there are that would never have created amazing books if they had to stand by that kind of promise?"

Gibbs stared at him for a moment. "Is he a good writer?"

Graham smiled. "He's no Hemingway, but he writes a clean, straightforward, and honest book. The descriptions are good and the characters are balanced. His plotting is careful and thoughtful. I really enjoyed Deep Six, and I was really looking forward to Rock Hollow. I know he would never allow this, but you can't imagine the kind of publicity we would get if we marketed another L.J. Tibbs book with the story about how Rock Hollow was sunk. It would be amazing."

"That's not going to happen," Gibbs said in a low voice.

"No. It's good to have limits, but I am wondering really what it costs you to have a character styled after yourself. Most people would find it flattering."

"I'm a private man."

"Yes, well, people are well aware that they are reading fiction, and I am sure that McGee didn't use the most private details of your life. Food for thought, Mr. Gibbs."

Gibbs got up to go.

"Before you go, you should know that Tim's biggest struggle has always been the title for his books. He figures that out before he ever decides on the story. Weird but that's writers for you. You wouldn't believe the some of the quirks I come across. Lyndi told me once that all he needs is for someone to give him a title and he starts working the story from there. Just wanted you to know that."

…

"I think our theory is good." Tony unwrapped deli sandwiches and reached for plates in the cupboard.

"I agree," Gibbs said. He stood at the lone window in McGee's small living room and sipped on a hot coffee. "Now, we need evidence."

"I got agents on the 57 delis and groceries. They're going to vet every one of them. Find out which ones are dirty. Plus, tomorrow, we have a three car tail on the delivery truck. Let's see if that truck makes another stops."

"That's a lot of stops. I hope they don't get made."

"Trust me. These guys didn't learn their craft watching Starsky and Hutch reruns, DiNozzo."

"McGee is going to see if he can grab a few of the broken packing crates," Tony said as he placed plates of sandwiches on the table.

Gibbs looked up sharply. "He needs to be careful."

"He will be. Plus, even if they think he's a fed, it would be dumb to hurt him."

Fornell sighed. "DiNozzo, I get that you're an guy with Italian roots, and you feel like you have some sort of insight into who they are, but you never grew up in a neighborhood, you know."

Tony frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You probably grew up in a house with a driveway so long, you had to take a cab to get to the mailbox. I am a Jersey guy, born and bred. I was an Irish kid in an Italian/Sicilian neighborhood. There were gangs and there was mafia, and when a hit went down, people knew who did it, and the mafia didn't care. The hits had two purposes: one was to get rid of a guy for some reason and the other was to send a message to the community about the consequences of crossing them. There were rarely arrests made. You gotta understand that. McGee isn't safe if they believe he's a fed and they think he stumbled onto something. They would have no qualms about disappearing him. They'd do it hard and fast, and everyone on Lombardozzi's crew is an expert at disposing a body and becoming a statue in interrogation."

Tony looked at Gibbs. "Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea."

"We didn't," he growled staring down at a meatball sub with distaste. "We were presented with a bunch of shit options, and we picked the best of the worst."

"He's been doing this a month now, and I have to say that he's handling it better than I ever imagined," Tony mumbled, more for himself than anyone else.

"Enough with the long faces," Fornell said as he bit into his eggplant parmesan sandwich. "He's brought us a lot of good information. I bet you we can pull something off this list of deliveries. We'll set up surveillance and pull McGee out of there in no time at all."

Gibbs took a fork and cut into a meatball. "If we don't find something in a week, we're going to take a good, hard look at what we're doing. And we're going to do that whether or not we find out where the guns are being delivered."

There was such a sense of finality to his words that no one responded.

…

McGee got into his car and let out air. It had been another long afternoon at the warehouse. They seemed more and more comfortable with him. No one hung over his shoulder. The guys seemed to like him. They teased him. Made him an honorary Italian. Called him McGio. Still, none of that relieved the tension that ate at his gut. Every time he got in his car, it felt like he'd been holding his breath for hours.

He backed out of the narrow cobblestone spot next to the old warehouse, and headed up the narrow path to the street. As he passed the warehouse, he saw a pile near the back door. He stopped his car and leaned over. It looked like remnants of broken crates- just what he needed to look at to see if there was evidence of a false bottom for carrying contraband.

He looked in his rearview mirror and saw no one. He felt something in the pit of his stomach. It was nothing new. He felt it every time they approached a home with a potential suspect inside. He felt it when he and Gibbs entered a building with a live bomb five years earlier. He felt for weeks when they were searching for Ziva in Somalia. It was part of the work, the risk he choose when he accepted the badge.

He took a deep breath like he always did, and pushed the fear to the back. Then he put the car in park and got out. 'Stay casual' he breathed to himself as he hiked up the small hill to the back door of the warehouse. He reached the pile of broken crates, and studied them. There was no way to take all of them. There was no way to take them all so he had to pick the right pieces. He focused on corner pieces and ones with extra nails. Then he spotted a corner piece with the fragments of two boards nailed parallel to one another at the bottom. Evidence of a possible false bottom. His breath caught and he reached for it.

"Hey! What you doing?!"

McGee froze for a moment. Then he looked up. One of Paul's crew, Stevie, was glaring at him.

"I said, what you doing?!"

McGee straightened. "Damn, you scared me. I was looking for lumber. I want to build a new bookcase in my apartment. Just looking for loose pieces. I mean, I thought these crates were being thrown."

The beefy man shook his head. "Da' boss likes to use dese crates for his fireplace. They ain't yours to take."

"Okay. Man, I didn't realize. I just thought they were being thrown."

"Da' boss wants to talk to you."

"Ah, come on, Stevie. I gotta be somewhere. Tell Paul I'm sorry. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"Naw. I think you better explain it now."

"I got an appointment, man."

"Hey! It'all just take a minute."

McGee gestured at this car. "My ride is blocking the drive."

"Ain't no one leaving right now. Come on."

McGee looked into the man's face but couldn't see anything other than determination. He knew he could make it to the car ahead of the man, but wasn't sure he could get in. Stevie opened the back door and gestured to him impatiently.

McGee could feel his heart as he walked through the stacks of crates to the front. Paul had all of his guys assembled, and there was a tension in the air. Stevie pushed past him. "I found him, Boss. He was going through the broken crates."

Paul's eyebrows went up. "Why are you trying to steal my firewood?"

"I didn't know, Paul," McGee said in a carefully measured tone. "I've been thinking about building a bookcase, and I thought I could find some loose boards."

"Bookcase!" Paul and his guys started laughing. "Tim, that kind of wood would be terrible for a bookcase. It's just some cheap, soft pine. What were you thinking?"

"I guess I don't know anything about woodworking." Tim struggled to stay even.

"I guess not," Paul said shaking his head. The guys around him chuckled.

"Listen, I apologized. I'm really sorry I made an assumption and didn't ask. I really got to be somewhere."

Paula shook his head. "Nobody is going anywhere until I find out who the snitch is."

McGee couldn't control the color rising in his cheeks.

Paul looked around the room. "I'm starting an empire here. I've worked my fingers to the bone the last two years building this business. You guys are on the ground floor of something that's going to be big, and now I find out that there's a traitor in the mix."

There wasn't a sound anywhere save the gentle lapping of ocean against the seawall and the distant cries of seagulls.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tim said softly.

"I spent 8 months making contacts, selling Lombardozzi tomatoes to various delis and groceries. That wasn't easy work. I had to go back time and again. I had to beg for space on their crowded shelves. Do any of you know how much work that is?"

Tim stepped forward. "What happened, Paul?"

"Someone gave my distribution list to a competitor. You know anything about that, Tim? I know you're hurting for money."

Relief surged through his body. "Paul, I would never do that to you."

"Really? Well, that's good to hear. Still, you're one of the three people who had access to the computer with the list. In fact, I think I've narrowed my suspect list. Fat Joe, Stevie, you stay. You're not off the hook. Tim, you too. The rest of you get out of here. Now!"

Men scattered, grabbing their things, and heading out the door. McGee felt fear rise in him. Fat Joe and Stevie were hardly the kind of guys that would be working in the office. They were muscle more than anything else. Tim's eyes darted to the gates open on the dock and the bay. There was no way he could outrun all three of them. He would have to find a way to be Tony. Talking his way out of this was his best chance at getting out okay.

…..

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is the end. Story's over. Not working on anything else currently. I have dissertation obligations. Hope to talk to you soon. Take care, Sheila

Chapter 5

"What are you and Gibbs up to?" Bishop sat on top of her desk, legs folded under her.

"Stuff," Tony said staring at his computer screen. He had been given 15 of the businesses from McGee's list to vet, and while he didn't have Tim's overall skill in searching the nooks and crannies of the internet, he'd learned quite a few tricks during his tenure with the geek.

"I thought we were a team," she said frowning.

"We are," he said still staring at the monitor. "And on this team, you are the probie, a position that allows you very little access to decision making power outside of the ocassional lunch order."

"All I've been doing for weeks is following up on cold cases while you and Gibbs are in and out of the office. Abby says something is up. That's why she's backed off. She says that there's no way Gibbs would've gotten rid of McGee like he did. She says he's probably undercover- which she says is a really bad idea."

Tony's head shot up. "Shut up! I don't want to hear another word!"

Ellie froze, mouth open.

"Don't you dare speculate on anything publicly. Have you no sense at all?!"

"I- I'm sorry."

Tony could feel the color rise in his cheeks. "Conference room A. Now!"

She got up and trotted after him. Inside the room, he shut the door behind her and grabbed her by the arm, pushing her into a dark corner. "Ellie, listen up. There are times when we are doing things that we can't talk about. That happens for a reason. I can't tell you what's happening, but speculating like you are can put people in danger."

"Oh my God! He is undercover!"

"You don't know anything and you won't speculate on anything! You got it!?"

"I want to help," she hissed. "Please!"

He studied her for a long moment. "You don't know anything. Right now, I am researching businesses, looking for criminal connections. I could use some help. That's all."

She nodded.

"Ellie, discretion is crucial here. You gotta understand that. You don't talk to Abby about this. She is about the best person I know, but I know 4 year olds that keep secrets better than she does."

"I got it," she said breathlessly.

"Alright, probie, we got work to do."

…

"My phone?"

"Yeah. I want to check your phone. Stevie and Fat Joe put their phones on the table. Now, it's your turn. Give me your phone."

"Paul, this is just weird. I've never seen you like this." McGee knew that losing his phone cut him off from any sort of rescue.

"This is what happens when a Lombardozzi is crossed. My pops taught me to take no prisoners."

"There is nothing on my phone!"

"Fat Joe! Stevie!"

The two thugs rushed him, knocking him over before he could brace himself. They wrestled with him for a minute before Stevie fished the phone out of his pocket. They got up, Stevie tossing the phone to Paul, and Fat Joe standing between McGee and the door.

McGee struggled to his feet, glaring at Paul. "I guess you learned everything from your old man."

"You want to call me mafia?"

"I don't know, Paul. I'm beginning to feel like Fredo in Godfather II."

Paul laughed. "Fredo knew it was coming and he knew he deserved it. Betraying family is unacceptable."

"I didn't betray you." McGee's breath was shallow.

"Am I going to find anything on this phone?"

"Go ahead. Look it over. You decide." McGee knew there wasn't anything on the phone to implicate him. Undercover 101.

Paul watched him for a moment and then tossed the phone on the table. "Not going to bother. You didn't sell any list to my competitors."

McGee sighed deeply.

"I really had you going, didn't I?" Paul laughed. Stevie and Fat Joe joined in.

"You're an asshole, Paul! You know that. You can go to hell!" His face was hot with anger. He reached for his phone and Paul did nothing when he grabbed it off the table. McGee started for the open gates.

"Hey Beaver, stop. I need to say something to you."

McGee halted in his tracks and turned. "I don't want to hear it."

"Actually, I think you do."

McGee waited. It was both terrifying and compelling.

"Do you want to know why I hired you?"

McGee sighed. "I don't really care."

"I grew up without a dad. He was in and out of jail. When he was out, mom kept him away from the house. The few times I saw him were the best times of my life. I knew that he kept me away to protect me. He wanted me to be a scientist, and I tried to do that for him, but I wasn't cut out for it. You probably knew that."

McGee didn't say anything. He remembered Paul as constantly needing someone to re-explain concepts to him, but McGee had always been happy to do that for him.

"I never got that scientist job, you know. Just drifted. My family had money so I spent time in the old country. Learned about the family business-"

"Paul, this has nothing to do with me," Tim said shaking his head. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see your dad, but I had nothing to do with it."

"If you're smart, you'll shut up, McGee."

McGee felt a chill go down his spine again. Fat Joe still stood between him and the door. He had the phone, but he sensed that doing anything with it would trigger a physical response.

"Starting this business was about making my pops proud. Wanted him to get out jail and not worry about anything. McGee, you would have no idea the expenses of something like this. There was no way to keep it afloat on tomatoes alone."

McGee sensed where this was going. "Paul, don't say anymore. I'm going to leave."

"What do you think I'm going to say?"

McGee tried walking around Joe, but then Stevie was there. He stopped, determined not to show his panic.

"I knew the feds would never let me have a legitimate business. You all have persecuted my family for as long as I can remember. Why fight it anymore?"

Trapped in all directions, McGee turned to Paul. "Then why the hell did you hire me?"

"I wanted you all to know that I was honest."

"Paul, I'm not a fed anymore."

"The truth is that I was never sure if you were on the level or undercover."

"I'm telling you the truth."

Paul nodded. "I was really starting to lean in that direction until you picked up those crates. You had to check out the damn crates."

McGee froze.

"My pops said that the best way to tell if a person is lying is to accuse them of something else and then see if there is relief on their face when they realize they are not accused for their real crime. You should've seen your face when I accused you of selling my grocery contacts. Huge relief. A man feels that when he thinks his real secret is still uncovered."

"You don't know what you're taking about." McGee was breathless.

"Relax. I'm not dumb enough to kill a fed."

McGee stared at him. "People know where I am."

"Yes," Paul nodded. "I thought as much. You better get going."

McGee turned and headed out the gate. The sound was familiar. He'd heard it from his own gun thousands of times. He knew what was coming next, and he also knew that thinking about it would make him a dead man. It was all about doing. He jerked to the right, startling Stevie, and then dived for the water. The next noise was a gun firing, and his body jerked wildly as he hit the water.

…..

"He should've called me about an hour ago." Tony said into the phone in the corner behind the staircase up to Vance's office. "….Come on, Boss. You know him…No, my phone has been with me. I want to ask Abby to trace his car and his phone…I'm not panicking. I can feel that something is off. You can feel it too. I know you…Alright, I'll get the trace started."

…

He held on to the slimy wooden post, his face barely above water, as footsteps pounded the dock above him. He didn't have evidence of his wound, but his left arm kept slipping off the post. Whenever the footsteps weren't loud, he moved post to post further out into the bay. He assumed that they either thought he had drowned or was looking for a way back onto the wharf.

What he planned to do when he got to the end of the pier wasn't clear. He just knew that there was no way to for him to climb onto the wharf and evade Paul and his men. He remembered his phone, and the realized that it was far too wet to be any good. An ache had developed near his left shoulder, but he didn't look. He was certain there was a bullet hole, and it would drain his hope to see the extent of it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and moved onto the next wood column.

….

Abby was in tears when he got there. She turned on him. "Is this a joke?! Is this a horrible joke?!"

"Abbs, I just asked you to track McGee. Between you and me, I know you've done it a million times."

She slapped the counter. "He's not there! He's not anywhere!"

Tony felt his gut clench. "Abby, tell me exactly what that means."

"There are no signals! No car GPS! No phone GPS! What did you and Gibbs do to him?! If you let something happen to him, I swear to God, Tony!"

"DiNozzo!"

They turned at the bark to see Gibbs in the doorway.

Tony swallowed. "Phone and car GPS are dea- gone. We can't track him."

Gibbs gave a short nod, careful not to make eye contact with Abby. "Let's go. We're taking Bishop. Tobias has a judge on speed dial. We'll have a search warrant for the warehouse by the time we get there."

"Gibbs," she said, hiccupping his name.

His mouth twitched but he didn't allow himself more. "I'll call you, Abbs."

…

McGee was wrapped around the last column between the pier and the open bay. His right arm was doing most of the work and was cramping and numb. He knew he didn't have more than an hour or two left before he was going to sink to the bottom of the bay. Still, two things held his attention. Dusk had descended. The last shouts he'd heard were about getting flashlights. And there was a barge slowly moving toward him onto its way into the harbor. It was slow enough to running at no more than 2-3 knots. He knew that if he wanted to reach it, it would mean swimming at least 2-300 meters, and then he would risk the captain never seeing him at all.

The decision wasn't one he had much time to consider. It wasn't dark yet, and there was a real chance that he'd be shot by someone on the pier. He wasn't fearful about it; he was too tired for that. It was all about calculating risk; something that McGee did better than most.

He let go of the pier and started out with a sidestroke giving his right arm and legs most of the burden. He didn't look back at the pier because he didn't want to know if anyone spotted him. He focused only on steady strokes and heading out for a rendezvous with the barge.

….

"Tobias, we're not going to wait outside…30 minutes is too long…We'll use Bishop as a lookout, but Tony and I are going in…Won't need a warrant. Warehouse is wide open…Well, get a move on then!"

He turned to Bishop. "I want you over the hill with binoculars. You should have a good view on the front of the warehouse. If I flash two fingers, I want you to call in every LEO within 30 miles. I'm talking Baltimore police, port authority police, NCIS, and then call Tobias."

She licked her lips. "I can do more."

"Your job is to have our six. Do it."

He turned to Tony who was loading his weapon. "Ready?"

Tony nodded and piled out of the car after him.

…..

Darkness fell as he worked his way to the barge. Part of him panicked that he would never reach it, but he kept moving. His arms were almost useless now, and he depended on his legs to keep him moving.

The nose of the barge had passed when he got close enough to yell. No one appeared on deck. Instead, the large, heavy, low riding boat kept moving. His yells were hoarse with exhaustion. Despair flooded through him as he realized that he wouldn't be seen. He bobbed up and down in the water, alone. As the end of the barge came into view, he spotted rubber tires lashed to the back of the barge, often used as a bumper. Relief flooded through him and he lunged toward them. He fumbled at them, his arms too numb to be much use, but finally, he hooked an arm through one and hung on for dear life.

….

Gibbs and Tony turned the corner, guns drawn. Wharf lights were on as were lights on in the warehouse. Men were standing around, and no one flinched when they saw the guns.

"Lombardozzi!" Gibbs yelled.

"Which one?" An old man sat on a crate.

Gibbs lowered his weapon. "You must be the old man. Where's your son?"

Lombardozzi gestured with his head. "Up in the office running his business."

"Get him down here."

"Got a warrant, fed?"

"I'm looking for a friend."

Lombardozzi let one end of his mouth curl up. "I kept telling him that McGee was a fed. Paulie is too trusting."

Three men with flashlights came running toward them off the pier. Tony turned his weapon on them and told them to stop, hands up. They did, dropping flashlights.

"What are you looking for?"

The man in front looked at Lombardozzi, and the old man drawled. "We lost a dinghy. Is that a federal crime?"

Tony stared at the three men. "He's in the water. They're looking for him. That's what they're doing."

"Stay cool, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

"DiNozzo!" Lombardozzi said pronouncing with Italian inflection. "I have a friend named DiNozzo. Nunzio DiNozzo. Lives in Newark. Do you know him?"

Tony screwed up his face. "I don't know any mafia trash! You and your so-called Italian connections make me sick! You're a frickin' stain on my heritage!"

"Stay focused, Tony."

Tony shook his head. "He's in the water, Boss. I can feel it."

Gibbs slowly put up a hand with two fingers. Then he looked at Dominic Lombardozzi. "In minutes, this place is going to be overrun with every law enforcement agency in Baltimore. We're going to find McGee, and you and your son are going to answer for this."

…..

The barge docked, and McGee called for help until his voice was nothing but a croak. He didn't have the strength to hoist himself on the tire and climb onto the barge. His dry throat burned and with each passing minute, the thought of letting go and drifting down into the cool, dark water became more inviting.

He was about ready to give in when his foot hit metal. There was a metal bar of some sort underwater to his left. He shifted his body and found the bar with both feet. Using the bar as leverage, he was able to hoist his body up onto the tire. He crawled on top, balancing while he reached for the railing of the barge. He grunted and pulled and pushed until his body landed with a splat onto the deck of the barge. He lay on his back staring up at the moon, his chest heaving up and down. It was a warm night, and he felt very peaceful. Closing his eyes was the natural next step.

…

Lights flooded the wharf and the warehouse. FBI had the warrant for the warehouse, and so they were in charge of the contents and all the characters within. Port Authority and Baltimore Police coordinated on McGee's search. Vance sent every available team to assist. The Port Authority had the water, and DiNozzo's gut told him to follow so he jumped on one of the boats.

Ellie watched from the entrance to the warehouse. Despite the warm summer night, she was shivering inside her NCIS jacket. It was such a quiet, eerie scene. There were people everywhere yet no one talked, and if they did, it was in muted tones. It was as if everyone knew this was a prelude to a funeral.

Dorneget found her when Vance's teams arrived, and he kept tabs on her. The search for McGee's car turned into a turf war between NCIS and Baltimore Police. Ellie watched this for a few moments and then stepped forward. She raised her voice, and suggested that they go at this from two perspectives: Either he drove away on his own steam or someone from the Lombardozzi crew disabled the GPS, took the car, and trashed it. She suggested that Baltimore follow both theories inside the city limits, and NCIS take everything outside of Baltimore. Dorneget smiled at her when the conversation went from hostile to reasonable. Two NCIS teams grabbed an FBI agent familiar with the Lombardozzi's and headed out of the city. Dorneget pushed Ellie into one of those cars.

…

Up in the office inside the warehouse, Gibbs paced back and forth in front of Paul Lombardozzi while Tobias sat in a corner and watched. "McGee was here today."

Paul glared. "Yes, the spy was here."

"You knew he was a fed," Fornell said from the corner.

"Not at first, but I kept catching him going through things that weren't any of his business. Then it became pretty obvious."

"Then what happened?"

"I said some things. He denied them. I didn't believe him. So I told him to get lost and he did."

Gibbs shook his head. "I noticed that you had a little bonfire out back. Still smoking when we showed. You always burn crates behind the warehouse?"

Paul threw his hands up. "You guys got me on that. What can I say? The city requires a permit for burning inside the limits and I don't have one."

"Tim start nosing around those crates?"

Paul shook his head. "No reason to. It's just crates. My pops called for a lawyer. It seems like I should maybe wait for him before I say anything more."

Gibbs sat down at the table across from him. "You do that, Paul. I suspect the old man is sweating downstairs. He knows you're no where near as tough as you need to be to play his kind of game."

Paul said nothing but his mouth tightened.

"You wait for your lawyer, Paul," Fornell said. "It's not going to help you. I've been putting this whole thing together in my head ever since I got here. You played tough guy, didn't you? Thought you were a chip of the old block, but somehow it went wrong. That's why that old sociopath and his crew had to get down here so fast. I bet he chewed you out good, didn't he? Told you that you didn't know nothing. I can just hear it. Then he rushes you up here while he sits down there to create the buffer. You're pathetic, you know that."

Paul's face flushed. "I would be stupid to kill a fed. Don't you understand that?"

"Oh, we do," Gibbs said. "But my guess is that you really don't."

Paul clasped his hands tightly. "Not another word until I see my lawyer."

…

Gibbs sat at his desk at 5 a.m. staring straight ahead. Fornell sat in McGee's chair, his head leaning against the divider, snoring loudly. Bishop called in from time to time. They were searching swamps, dumps, country roads- anywhere a car can be abandoned.

The elevator sounded behind him but he didn't turn his head. DiNozzo came into view and flopped down at his desk. "Nothing."

Gibbs didn't react.

Tony rubbed his mouth. "I felt it in my gut from the start."

Gibbs looked away.

"He wasn't built for this kind of work. Why couldn't we have just been satisfied with that? Huh? I would've gone undercover. He's not an actor."

Gibbs turned to him sharply. "Are we doing a postmortem? Are you going to force that on me now?!"

"I'm not like you, Gibbs! I have to talk!" Tony said pounding the table. "We lost him!"

"We don't have a body!"

"Terrific! This is the Lombardozzi family. Bodies don't count. Someone will find Tim a few years from now when they drain a swamp for development twenty miles north of Baltimore. You know that's how this works!"

Fornell's head rocked upward and his eyes blinked open. "What the hell!? News?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Just DiNozzo worried that I don't have any feelings."

Fornell rolled his head toward Tony. "Oh, for God's sakes, DiNozzo. Please don't start circling the drain quite yet. You all need each other. Besides, you know Jethro as well as I do. If it comes out bad, he'll feel the ache in his bones the rest of his life."

DiNozzo rested his head on the desk. "I know. Just can't help feeling that we should've known better."

Fornell rubbed his face and leaned forward. "Seriously, Tony, I know I am not your favorite person, but, from the bottom of my heart, I want you to understand that these thoughts you're having are nothing but deep, dark holes. Don't do it to yourself and don't do it to the people you care about."

Tony put his hands over his head and closed his eyes.

"I confess that I'm afraid to ask what's going on."

All heads swiveled to find Ducky standing there, hands deep in his pockets.

Fornell glanced at the clock. "This is an early morning for you, Ducky."

"Never left. Jimmy and I stayed with Abby all night hoping that we'd get some answers to a long list of troubling questions- questions we've had since the day we were told dear Timothy had been fired."

"We're bastards sometimes, Ducky," Gibbs said. "I thought you knew that."

"You weren't happy that he was undercover. Don't bother denying. We've figured that much out. I have sensed the concern radiating off you for weeks."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, Jethro, it does. Because if the looks on your faces are what I think they are, then you're going to need us. We are all going to need each other."

Fornell looked up. "We don't know anything for sure yet."

Ducky sighed. "Yet your despair speaks volumes."

…..

"Hey fella! Fella! Wake up, buddy!"

McGee's eyes blinked open and he saw the dawn of a morning eclipsed by a bushy, bearded face dressed in flannel.

"What's wrong with ya? How'd ya get on the barge, fella?"

He tried to roll over and sit up, but his limbs screamed, and he choked a response.

"Is that blood on your arm? Are you okay, fella?"

McGee stared up at his bearded savior and his parched lips opened for one hoarse message, "Call…911."

….

Vance leaned against the radiator, arms folded. "When did we last hear from the Port Authority police?"

"6:10 a.m." Tony mumbled into the arms crossed on his desktop.

"We should have an NCIS agent on each of those search vessels."

Tony nodded into his arms.

"I heard from the ground teams half an hour ago. It could take weeks to search the swamps and other possible dumping grounds. Fornell, does Lombardozzi's crew have a favorite area?"

Fornell shook his head. "This isn't really his territory. I called the assistant director. We can throw 35 agents into this by 7 a.m."

"You and I will coordinate efforts. We'll stage in MTAC."

If Gibbs had feelings about being passed over, he wasn't showing them. He sat silently in his chair, focused on something the rest of them couldn't see.

Ducky sighed. "I should probably wake Abby. Staff will be reporting for work, and I should prepare her."

Gibbs blinked. "I'll talk to her."

"Neither of you is ready yet," Ducky said shaking his head. He pushed off of Bishop's desk and started for the elevator.

Gibbs' phone rang and he frowned at the strange number. He picked it up and listened. "…You're sure?...Injuries?...Condition?...We'll be right there."

He looked up at the collective faces staring at him. He swallowed hard. "Ah, can somebody catch Ducky before he goes and gives Abby the wrong idea about McGee?"

Tony scrambled over the top of his desk and bounded to the elevator yelling out Ducky's name at the top of his voice.

…..

"Shouldn't we call Delilah and tell her you're okay?" Abby perched on his bed next to his legs.

"I don't think so, Abbs. She didn't know anything was wrong, and she's a long ways away. I don't want to worry her."

"Okay," she said patting his knees. "Can we talk again about how you were wrong to keep this from me?"

"Um, I think my answer will still be the same as the last three times we had that conversation…today. You wanna take this one, Tony?"

DiNozzo was draped over a chair. "Abbs, I told him over and over that you could be trusted. Even Gibbs was open to telling you—"

He grunted when the pillow landed in his face. Tim turned his head to Bishop. "Thanks probie."

"No problem, Tim."

The door opened and Ducky and Jimmy came in. McGee lifted his head. "Did you talk to them? Can I go, Duck? I want to go home."

"My dear boy, your wound is infected from all of those hours in the water. IV antibiotics are quite necessary. Two more days at the earliest."

McGee let his head fall back. "I hate it here."

"I don't." Tony said as he took the attacking pillow and stuffed it behind his head. "Let's order all the puddings and jellos again. That was fun."

"Tony," McGee moaned. "You must have work to do at the office. Don't let me keep you."

"No way, Timmy. You almost made cry the other night when you went missing. It still makes me happy to be around you. Insult my intelligence a few times and maybe the glow will fade."

"In words you can understand, right?"

Tony smiled. "Naw. Didn't work. I'm still smiling. Somebody needs to hand me the phone. I'm calling down for jellos and puddings…except the sugar free ones. Gross."

"Ducky," McGee pleaded. "He stayed until almost midnight last night. He made me order four macaroni and cheeses and he ate three of them. Now, he's obsessed with pudding. He's making me eat like a man with no teeth."

"I think Tony is doing a little emotional eating," Bishop said.

"Tony, ask them if they have butterscotch. I love butterscotch," Jimmy said.

"Great idea!"

Ducky looked at the ceiling. "Okay! Listen up! Timothy can not go home unless he is allowed to rest and heal. Everyone is going home."

"After pudding, right?"

"There will be no pudding. Puddings! Why must Americans call their mousses puddings? Out! All of you, out!"

Jimmy jumped up. "Tony, let's go down to the cafeteria. We can order all the puddings we want."

"It's just not the same." Tony sighed. "I will miss you, Timmy."

McGee closed his eyes. "Thank you, Tony."

"Be back in the morning."

McGee groaned.

"Abigail," Ducky said standing at the door. "That's means you too."

"He needs me, Ducky."

"Abbs, right now, I just need to sleep. Okay?"

She worked her mouth as she considered a pout, but she finally found a smile and kissed him on the cheek. "Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll be here right after church."

"Okay," he said mumbling his way to sleep.

…..

When he woke again, it was night. He looked at his vitals on the machine beside and the IVs pumping medicine into his veins.

"How you doing, Tim?"

He swiveled his head. "Boss?"

"Hope I didn't wake you. Just wanted to sit here for a bit."

"No, it's okay," McGee said lifting his head. "I've hardly seen you."

"Been busy. Lombardozzi's next shipment came in and we were waiting. Tore the whole thing apart. 27 weapons in false bottoms of the crates. Exactly as you predicted."

McGee smiled. "Good."

"Good work, Tim."

Tim shook his head. "I'm lousy undercover, Boss."

"No, I don't think that's true. I think we rushed you into a situation to fix a misunderstanding. You handled it as well as anyone. I mean that."

"He played me."

"Naw. I heard your debrief. Paul was hard to predict because he was making it up as he went along. I don't think even he knew that he was going to say from one minute to the next."

"He was my friend."

Gibbs considered that for a moment. "Maybe, he was at one time. The Paul you met two months was a different guy, somebody confusing tough with bad. This Paul doesn't know anything about friends."

McGee nodded. "I'm going to miss that money, Boss."

"About that, Tim." Gibbs cocked his head. "I don't think you're going to need to repay that judgment."

"What?"

"Yeah, I think there's a way out."

"I don't think so, Boss. I really checked into it."

"Actually, I think it's about time to dust ol' L.J. Tibbs off and send him on another adventure."

He blinked. "I made a promise to you."

"Being a storybook hero is kinda flattering."

"You don't understand. I can't finish Rock Hollow."

"Oh no, we are burning Rock Hollow. Gonna start from scratch."

McGee stared at him, mouth open. "I made promises to others as well."

"They have all signed off on this new book except Jimmy. I think we're going to have to rehabilitate him some."

"I don't know, Boss. I haven't thought about writing in a very long time."

"Well, you can't let talent atrophy, Tim. That's no good."

"You talked to my publisher?"

"Yeah. You and I are going to meet with him next week."

"I…I don't have any ideas."

"Rumor has it that you need a little push. I was thinking about that. Two nights ago, I thought, for sure, we were going to fish your corpse out of the bay. It was a real rough night. After awhile, it got so there was nothing left to do but sit and wait. And I started thinking about how your publisher said that you seem to need an idea for a title and then you just build the story from there. Then that old sailor's chant entered my head, 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.' All night long. Red sky. Red sky. That's your title."

McGee lifted his head. "Excuse me?"

"Red sky in morning. What do you think? Sort of menacing, right? Perfect for a good ol' whodunit. That's your title."

"Red sky in morning," Tim said softly.

"Just play with it a bit. A brain like yours will undoubtedly come up with all the right twists and turns."

"You sure?"

Gibbs nodded. "Looking forward to it, in fact."

Tim lay back on the bed. "I got a lot to think about."

Gibbs reached over unexpectedly and patted him on the face. "Just have fun with it."

He smiled. "Thanks Boss."

Gibbs got up and headed for the door. He stopped. "I don't imagine we could spare ol' L.J. the obligatory girlfriend, could we?"

"Can't make any promises, Boss," McGee said with a grin.

….

The End


End file.
